Casus
by carpenoctem22
Summary: Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it. It's a rare occasion that ends in the apocalypse, but the Pines family has always been an exception. Maybe it's a good thing, then, that the rules have never applied to them. Two siblings and the end of the world. One falls, one finds. (post DAMVTF)


**Oh man, and I thought other episodes were bad. This one takes the cake in ruining my emotions, that's for sure.**

* * *

She doesn't remember much. Everything has taken on an odd tinge, like she's lost in another bad dream, her subconscious taking total control.

Is she dreaming?

She can't… she can't remember. Her mind is frustratingly blank. She _might_ be dreaming.

But it feels so _real_.

She wanders through never-ending forests, the trees dark against the bloody sky. Flashes of lightning illuminate the dark branches, reaching towards her like broken, crippled fingers. She shivers, but the wind that beats against her skin is hot.

No matter where she looks, all she sees are trees. Trees and the ugly, tearing sky. She wants to call out for someone, but she has a feeling no one's going to reply.

She's alone. She's totally, completely alone. Abandoned.

There's an awful twisting in her chest that whispers it's her fault.

She breaks into a run, her breath coming in panicked gasps. The trees have to end _somewhere_. She can't be the only one left-

She stumbles into a clearing, cast in the same glow from the gaping rip in the sky. Her eyes land on the figure crumpled before her and she _stops._

If this is a dream, she wants to wake up.

She can't.

Her skin feels like fire, every breath of air a gale that uproots the hairs on her arms, every twitch of muscle a spasm that wracks her very being. Her breathing becomes an audible, physical thing that scrapes through her chest and past her throat, no longer born of reflex but rather stuttered, desperate gasps. She stands so still she can hardly spare the effort to wipe the hot trails that make their way down her cheeks, burning with salty stinging as she feels her head grow heavy.

She can't react. She won't react. Reacting will make it real. And it's not, it's not real. It's a dream, it has to be. She can't react.

She doesn't know _how_.

She used to like the color red. Red is the color of the little heart-shaped stickers that peppered her bookbag and spelling assignments. Red is the first color in rainbows, the _R_ in _ROYGBV_ because that's how rainbows are supposed to be drawn. Red is the color of the spaghetti sauce that her mother whipped up with soft hands and careful delicacy, the sauce that Grunkle Stan nearly burned with rough and scarred but caring hands. Red is the color Wendy's hair, spilling out from under her hat and caught in the wind, long and silky as she twists it into braids and mustaches. Red is the color of the pen marks that cover her math assignments at school, the red ink neatly crossing through her illustrations. Red is the color of the sprinkles that taste like strawberries.

Red is the color that sinks through the dirt and grass, forming little pools of crimson liquid that glint in the swirling lights from the sky.

Red dyes a faded orange shirt scarlet and a navy jacket purple. Red makes her want to throw up.

 _No._

Her hands tremble as they drift over the red, reaching desperately for the pale skin that's left untouched. There's little of it.

Her hands find soft, familiar hair, brown curls flecked with darkening dampness. Fingers tangle in it, clutching.

The pained, halting breaths that wrack his chest are growing slower, but every sharp gasp sends another flood of crimson, dying the grass even darker. Hands grasp uselessly, at the grass, in the dirt, at her. Her trembling hand meets the limp, splattered one, the sticky warmth seeping between her fingers.

Lashes flutter, and exhausted, pained eyes meet hers. Familiar, beloved eyes, ones that she could've been looking in a mirror at, once upon a time.

No longer. They've changed in ways she can't comprehend, can't accept. Can't recognize.

Now they grow dim, hazy and glimmering as they flick back and forth wildly. They catch on her again, and they stay there. There's a flash of emotion, deeper than she's seen.

Her own eyes blur.

She recognizes that stare. Knows it better than her own.

Knows the love in it is one she'll never lose.

Except – except –

She doesn't want to accept. She can't accept that she's going to lose that.

Laughter fills her ears, laughter like the flames that lick at the wood, at the city. Yellow and black flashes, and her fingers clench. She rips her eyes away from the love that's dying in front of her.

" _What did you do?!"_ she screams, the crushing weight on her chest crumbling under the white-hot rage that blazes to life. One eye blinks back at her, dancing but cold. Yellow flashes again.

" _Exactly what you wanted, of course."_

This isn't what she wanted. This is – she'd never, ever, want this, how could he possibly-

" _LIAR!"_

" _You're gonna hurt my feelings, Shooting Star."_

His voice is careless. She cannot understand how anyone could sound so careless, so uncaring, after – after-

" _After all, it's not like he's gonna see the summer end now!"_

Her heart shudders to a stop. Her limbs drop uselessly at her side.

" _You can't act stupid when you're dead!"_

Angry words feel miles away, but they echo in her ears.

Tears and a deal and a ball of swirling galaxies.

 _Mabel, wait! Come back!_

She screams.

* * *

The scene restarts.

And over, and over, and over again.

* * *

Once upon a time, he prided himself in his maturity to handle heavy situations.

This is pushing him far, far past his limits.

The sky is swirling crimson and purple, torn through its center by the gaping, golden _X_ that spreads larger by the second. He can see dark shadows flitting from the rift, hideous, deformed things with bat-like wings that swoop down upon the town, prompting another outbreak of screams that join the already deafening chaos. There are sirens wailing, the broken chopping of a helicopter sounding from somewhere, but nothing rings quite like the terrified, piercing screams.

Other than the echoing, victorious laughter that rises above it all.

It's the end of the world, and Dipper can barely breathe.

 _How does he – what does he –_

What is he even supposed to do? He tried, he tried so hard, and he did everything, everything Ford told him to, he-

He didn't, though, did he? He didn't glue the rift back together when Ford told him. Left it in his backpack, simply lying there, for anyone to pick up.

 _Anyone_ to pick up.

He wants to throw up. He wants to run, to hide, to curl up in a ball until he wakes up from this nightmare.

The winds grow stronger, sweeping across him and tearing through his hair. His hat is gone, lost hundreds of feet over Gravity Falls. He can't hide anymore. Every defense he had, every fallback, every safety net – it's gone, stripped away. And Mabel-

Dipper's chest bursts. Emotions war in him, fear and pain and desperation and anger. He's angry, he's furious, his very skin feels like a forest fire at full blaze with it. Angry at Ford, angry at Mabel, angry at Bill, angry at-

 _Mabel._ How could she, how could she do that, how could she do this to them-

Dipper wants to scream. He wants to tear down the walls of the Shack until his hands are raw and bloodied. Mabel left him. She left him and handed the rift right over to Bill. Mabel left him, Mabel hates him, and he's so, so angry-

Angry at himself.

Mabel may have left him, but he left her first.

His vision blurs. Hopeless, it's hopeless, _he failed her_ -

His knees hit the ground, dirt scraping against the weeping cuts from earlier. His body aches, his nerves raw and exposed, still singing from flying and falling and crashing. The duct tape's left red lines on his hand, darkening to purple where the blood flow cut off. His knuckles are bruised and splitting. That's not what he stares at.

All he has eyes for is the faint sheen of glitter sparkling on his fingertips, left from a single touch earlier.

His breath hitches. The raging fire is doused by icy panic. He's lost her. Bill's won, he failed and Bill's _won_ -

 _No._

He finds a handhold.

No. He does not get to give up. Not now. Not with what's at stake.

His hands clench, the warmth of the magnetic gun still fresh on his fingertips. His fear dissipates, drowned by the fire that's building again in his gut.

Bill can wreck his mind. He can leave scars in his soul. He can haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life. He can tear their family in two. He can split the sky, set his demons loose, bring the apocalypse itself down on Gravity Falls.

But he'll be damned if he lets Bill take his sister from him.


End file.
